50 Shades of Broken Dreams
by linwe viper emily nolatari
Summary: Just wrote this on a lark, just from what I've read based on reviews, so that is all there is to it. It deals with a less than ideal side to Christian Grey, where his anger does the talking.


She awoke, fearfully looking to her right, hoping that he was not there, but all the wishing in the world did not make him disappear.

The illusion had broken a long time ago, but she had been too stupid, too proud to

admit it. He looked like an angel when he slept, at least in his beauty, because when he awoke he could only be described as a demon with the face of an angel. She stared at the beautiful face that had captivated her only a year prior, and wondered how easy it would be to end it all. Just grab a pillow and smother him in his sleep. She was capable of at least that much. Asleep, he couldn't be stronger than her. She could never win when he was awake, but asleep he was not invulnerable. Many times she had played around with that idea, but she didn't have the courage, not of killing him, but of becoming a murderer. He did not deserve any more of her time, and if she were to actually smother him in his sleep, she'd spend a lot of time in jail, all because of the jerk she had once fancied herself in love with.

And who wouldn't fall head over heels for someone like him? But she knew that answer. It was easy. Kate wouldn't. Why? Because Kate had experience. The reason why she was an easy prey for the West Coast's most eligible bachelor was that she was a naïve virgin with an inferiority complex, and here came this impossibly beautiful, rich, sexually experienced man that chose her over her more obviously beautiful friend, and who wouldn't fall in love? Even if that love lasted less than he did in bed ( not that a 20 something virgin would know better).

The first time he coerced her into having sex,-because it was not mutual-, her attraction to him began to wane. It wasn't so much the sexual assault;-she didn't see it as a rape-, but his chest hair. Who the hell still had chest hair in this day and age? She might have been a naïve virgin, but even she knew how much of a turnoff hair was, period. She could understand if he had been this manly, macho man, but Christian Grey was anything but. He was a modern, vain, rich man in his late twenties. No man worth his salt who cared so much about his looks would ever not get rid of his chest hair. Hell, he had demanded she get rid of any hair that wasn't on her head, because as he had said "It was disgusting" and had practically dragged her into a room where a woman was waiting to rip out the hairs from her most sensitive areas without him actually asking her if she even wanted to go through that unnecessary pain. Anger boiled to the surface of her mind, remembering all the times she had gone through the pain of having her pubic hairs ripped out because he said so, yet he would never think of pleasing her by getting rid of his ridiculous chest hair. She turned once more to look at his sleeping form, the covers had fallen from his body, revealing the naked chest with those offending hairs and she was taken over with the sudden impulse to rip those hairs out, consequences be damned. What more could he do to her? Beat her up? Kill her? Maybe death would be welcomed. She got out of bed and went into the bathroom. The tweezers gleamed in her hand as she approached his sleeping body and she prepared for the attack. If she couldn't kill him, at least let him suffer a millionth of all he had made her suffer in one short year. He had stolen her virginity, made her into an alcoholic, had forced ineffective birth control down her throat and had provoked 2 miscarriages. The tweezers ferociously plucked at the first hair and we awoke with a start. He easily pushed the tweezers away from him and grabbed her throat, but she was surprisingly not scared. She knew that she wouldn't die today. How many times had she suffered this treatment, only to have him back out and whimper in a corner, while she felt sorry for him instead of herself?

Then she remembered. The first time that he had gotten seriously angry at her and decided not to rape her in punishment, but instead just beat the living crap out of her was when he found out that she was pregnant. And why wouldn't she be pregnant? He hated condoms, had never even learned how to put one on properly, and his idea of birth control was to shove a random pill at random times, -but every day, of course- down her throat, because we all know that's how Plan B works, right? That day he had thrown her across the room, dragged her by the hair and kicked her in the stomach until he got tired, but miraculously the child had wanted to live. And live it did, for a few months anyway. Since he was so sure that he had gotten rid of the "problem", she was not allowed to visit a doctor, and since he controlled every aspect of her life, she couldn't tell anyone either. It was the months that told them both that the child still existed, and he would beat her every time they had sex, which was, quite frankly, everyday. In a matter of months, soon after their hasty marriage, she stopped being the "trophy wife" to simply become the "cum dumpster". She spend her days naked at home, fluids dripping from between her legs from all the sex he forced on her. In the living room, in the dining room, the second living room, the bathroom, the pool, anywhere and everywhere. And if he wasn't physically present, she still had to please him over Skype, or the phone, but one way or the other; he was the one in charge of her sexuality. On their honey moon, she made the mistake of tanning topless, and as punishment for her exhibitionism, not only did he leave bruises to make sure she'd be embarrassed of showing any part of her body, but he made people watch as he practically raped her. There were people that would actually pay for that kind of "entertainment" she had learned, and since then, she had been terrified of ever angering him like that again. So when she found out she was pregnant, instead of being a newly married girl happily expecting her first child, she was anxiously awaiting her punishment for letting it happen. And what a punishment it was. It stopped being forced sex, and it just became a plain and simple beat up, until one day she realized that the baby was not kicking anymore. It was then, and only then that he took her to a doctor and paid a lot of money for having no questions asked. The child was taken out and she never found out what is it that they do with the bodies. The next child had been the same. She had dreams of her children being born, a boy she had named Teddy, and a girl she had planned to name Phoebe. She could feel herself losing consciousness. Maybe this time, it would be the end, but suddenly he let her go.

"I'm sorry" he said, letting her go. He was sweaty, and shaky. For all his overwhelmingly frightening anger issues, he was deep down, a coward.

"Yeah, I'm sorry too." She told him, but not for the reasons he was thinking. She was sorry that she had fallen in love with him and sorry that she couldn't kill him.

Looking at his naked chest heaving, she thought "Someday I will rip out all those annoying chest hairs, even if I have to die trying." It seemed he was strangely attached to those damned hairs, and it was the only way she had found to hurt him.

She smiled. She could wait. At least know she knew who she had truly married.


End file.
